As an excellent specimen of a masculine young animal, genus homo, Bob Bennett was good to look on. Some of those young ladies who wave banners when young men strain their backs and their arms and their legs in the cause of learning, had, in the days of the not remote past, dubbed him, sub rosa, the “blue-eyed Apollo.” Some of the fellows not so euphemistically inclined had, however, during that same glorious period found frequent occasion to refer to him less classically, if more truthfully, as “that darn fool, Bob Bennett.” That was on account of a streak of wildness in him, for he was a free bold creature, was Bob. Conventional bars and gates chafed him. He may have looked like a “blue-eyed Apollo,” but his spirit had the wings of a wild goose, than which there are no faster birds—for a wild goose is the biplane of the empyrean. Now that Bob had ceased the chase for learning and was out in the wide world, he should have acquired an additional sobriquet—that of “Impecunious Bob.” It would have fitted his pecuniary condition very nicely. Once he had had great expectations, but alas!—dad had just “come a cropper.” They had sheared him on the street. The world in general didn’t know about it yet, but Bob did. “We’re broke, Bob,” said dad that very morning. “That’s all right, Gov.,” said Bob. “Can you get up?” “I can’t even procure a pair of crutches to hobble with,” answered dad. “Never mind,” observed Bob magnanimously. “You’ve done pretty well by me up to date. Don’t you worry or reproach yourself. I’m not going to heap abuse on those gray hairs.” “Thanks, Bob.” Coolly. “_I’m_ not worrying. You see, it’s up to you now.” “Me?” Bob stared. “Yes. You see I believe in the Japanese method.” “What’s that?” Uneasily. “Duty of a child to support his parent, when said child is grown up!” Bob whistled. “Say, Gov., do you mean it?” “Gospel truth, Bob.” Bob whistled again. “Not joking?” “’Pon honor!” Cheerfully. “I never did like the Japanese,” from Bob, sotto voce. “Blame lot of heathens—that’s what they are!” “I’ve got a dollar or two that I owe tucked away where no one can find it except me,” went on dad, unmindful of Bob’s little soliloquy. “That will have to last until you come to the rescue.” “Gee! I’m glad you were thoughtful enough for that!” ejaculated the young man. “Sure you can keep it hidden?” “Burglars couldn’t find it,” said dad confidently, “let alone my creditors—God bless them! But it won’t last long, Bob. Bear that in mind. It’ll be a mighty short respite.” “Oh, I’ll not forget it. If—if it’s not an impertinence, may I ask what _you_ are going to do, dad?”